


Harleen Potter and the Philosopher's Stone

by blacklikeblood



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Female Harry Potter, Slytherin Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2018-12-20 18:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11926470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blacklikeblood/pseuds/blacklikeblood
Summary: Harleen Potter was an odd child.When a letter arrives that reveals the Dursleys lies and her true lineage, her whole world shifts around her. Thrown into a new world where she is famous for something she can't remember, she promises herself to be more than a name and a scar.The Wizarding World is suprised when they see their 'Saving Grace' emerge after ten years and she is nothing like they expected.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> I am a big fan of Slytherin!Harry fics, and thought long about writing one - I am not really sure when in the process this turned into a Fem!Harry one but here you go. I try to tie in as many new ideas as possible, but the overall plot line is gonna be similar to the first HP Book. I'm gonna update the tags as the story unfolds.  
> Obviously none of the Characters are mine and the whole HP world belongs to JK Rowling, I only borrow it all to play some more make-believe.  
> If you find any mistakes etc, please tell me!

### Prologue

Harleen Lilian Potter liked to think that she had a life plan.  
A _good_ life plan.  
A plan where she would be forever free and independent and could do whatever the hell she liked.  
A plan where she did not need to count on the Dursley's (not that there was much to count on anyway) for her future success.  
A plan where she could actually be free of the Dursley's clutches as soon as she finished school with the best grades possible.

On the 24th of July 1991 though, that whole plan was nullified.

 

Number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey seemed to be a most normal house. It was identical to all the other houses on the street, with the same impeccable front lawn, the same bird fountain, the same perfectly maintained garden and the same most normal inhabitants.

However, it was not.

Since she was just a little over a year old, Harleen Potter lived with her Aunt Petunia Dursley, her husband Vernon and their son Dudley under the same roof. Dropped on their doorstep like yesterdays trash, she had grown up in Dudley's rather enormous shadow. The boy was their parents' apple of the eye, in their minds, there was no better child to have. Everything he did or said was the best of the best, even though he was not an intelligent child by any means. 

Dudley Dursley grew up spoiled with everything he wished for and many things he didn't wish for, with two bedrooms to fit all his toys and every food he could pronounce dropped onto his plate. He was not even medicore in his school studies, but of course this wasn't his fault, but rather the teachers', who never understood Petunia's precious Diddybums.

For as long as Harleen could remember, the cupboard under the stairs was her room. The first and only time she ever asked about her parents, she spend the whole night crying onto the holey pillow. Aunt Petunia had swung the soapy frying pan she was scrubbing over her head, barley missing her. The yelling about her drunk parents had stayed in her mind for quite a while, even though she had not been old enough to know what 'drunk driving' meant. But the disgust had been clear in her Aunts voice, and the dreams about proud parents that will someday come and get her had forever been shattered. 

When Harleen was six, and was allowed to go to school, her world seemed to get better. School – a place that was for many children a burden, became Harleens safe haven. She didn't have to spend the whole day scrubbing Aunt Petunias floors or tidying Dudleys room, she could actually achieve something for herself.  
She had finally found something that was hers, and hers alone. The Dursley's could take away the toys she managed to grab from Dudley, they could take away her food and deny her clothes, giving her only Dudleys worn, old, tatty cast-offs, they could take away her blanket and pillow if they thought she did something wrong (which was almost always the case when anything happened), but they could never, never take away the knowledge she gained.  
She realized quite soon that by applying herself to her studies she could find a way out of the Dursleys grasp. While Uncle Vernon constantly grumbled about all the money Harleen cost, she could actually get scholarships if she was good enough. And she will be good enough. A scholarship meant she could study whatever she liked, she could get a good job and leave the Dursleys behind without ever looking back.

So she studied and studied and studied. Over the years she did every free after school club there was – from Track Team to Science and Book Club over Tae Kwon Do, Archery and Piano lessons. The library became her second home. There was so much knowledge to be found in books, so much knowledge to be used, so much knowledge that could help her – it was _incredible_.  
It took a few years until she could evade the Dursleys for a full day, but even in her early years in school they couldn't take away her smarts. No matter how long they made her go without food, or shut in her cupboard for being better than Dudley, she never backed down.  
This was _hers_ , and hers alone, and nothing they ever did or threatened could make her stop learning.  
After a while the Dursleys stopped caring – they still threw passive aggressive words her way, degrading her and her parents, but she could actually stay out longer than before.  
Soon, she only stayed at Privet Drive over night. After she made breakfast in the morning and took her share before the Dursley's got up, she left early for school, and only came home shortly before Dinner, after the library closed. 

While her first years living with the Dursley's where full of pain and humiliation, she never really saw them much after she turned 8. This seemed to be alright with them, as there were hardly ever any complaints. Sometimes she had work in the garden over a weekend or do house chores, usually when Uncle Vernon had declared that she was not doing enough to repay the gracious home they gave her.

So she had a plan.  
Go to school. Be the best. Learn everything you could ever use. Get a scholarship. Study. Get a job (A better job than Uncle Vernon. Just to rub it in.). Never be like Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. And never – never ever fall down the same dirty hole her parents did. She was going to be better than that.  


But none of that mattered now anyway.  
Because everything changed on the 24th of July.

It was a normal Wednesday during summer holidays. Harleen was as always the first to be awake, made breakfast for the rest of the family, got herself some toast and made her way out of the house.  
The post already lay on the front door mat, and if the letter hadn't looked so old next to a bill and a postcard, she would've never noticed it. 

But thus she picked it up and received the first letter in her life.

To

> Harleen Potter  
>  Cupboard under the Stairs  
>  Number 4  
>  Privet Drive  
>  Little Whinging  
>  Surrey

Of course she thought it to be a joke.  
A school for Witchcraft and Wizardry? Absolutely ridiculous.  
And yet.. and yet...  
She would've thought it to be a prank from Dudley, but she knew he had no imagination whatsoever, and he could never have come up with a letter like this. A man named Dumbledore? Supreme Mugwump? What was that even supposed to mean?

And even though it seemed all to weird to be true, she couldn't help but feel a little hope. That she was different. That she was special. That there was something else that set her apart from the Dursleys.

And she remembered – all the times unexplainable things happened around her, things that made Uncle Vernon very angry and made Aunt Petunia pinch her face like she'd just bitten into a lemon.  
Things that were not normal – like the day Dudley had caught her before she could get into the library and chased her with his friends through the park and then, suddenly, while she was trying to jump over a hedge, she found herself in front of the library doors. (After that she had finally signed up for the Track Team – she did not like running, but to get away from Dudleys favourite game Harley Hunting she had to be faster.)  
Uncle Vernon once hit her after she dropped the Whiskey glass she was supposed to prepare for him, but once the spinning in her head had stopped and she looked at him again, she could see him clutching his hand. It was read and swollen, like hers had looked the first time she tried to make tea and accidently spilled the boiling water over her hand. Whatever had happened, it seemed to have hurt Uncle Vernon more than her. (He never hit her again after that. He humiliated her, yelled at her until his face was as red as Aunt Petunias favourite dress, but he never hit her again.)  
There was that one time Petunia cut all her hair off because buying hair ties seemed to be too much for her Aunt, and then over night it had grown back to shoulder length again. (Her Aunt had not looked into her eyes for a week. She found a new package of brightly colourful hair ties on her cot the next evening.)  
And then, then there were all the little things – she often found just the right book in the library with minimal searching, and a few times Lucy, the nice librarian, had not even been aware that this exact book was in stock. There was that one girl in school that always made fun of her hair or slightly darker skin colour, and one time when she said something especially nasty, there were suddenly growing pimples all over her face. She could always remember everything she had ever read, could understand the snakes on the fields while they searched for food, and sometimes, sometimes the flowers seemed to blossom underneath her fingertips.

Was that magic?

The only thing she could do was to ask her Aunt about it. (Because how could she answer a letter with no return address?) Uncle Vernon liked her even less, and Dudley never knew anything anyway. While Aunt Petunia did not like her very much either, she was after all her mothers sister. And if she was special, then it didn't seem to be that far stretched that her parents were too.  
(She tried not to think about it to much – because if her aunt had lied about this, was anything she ever heard about her parents true? She had spend her whole life hating them, for abandoning her for something as disgusting as alcohol, but what if it had been a lie?)

She waited until Uncle Vernon left for work and Dudley was at a friends house before she came out of her cupboard again. The few hours alone with her thoughts had not been exactly comfortable, but the discussion with her aunt was even less so. 

There was a lot of yelling involved – because it may not be true that her parents were jobless drunks, but there was definitely no love lost between Aunt Petunia and her sister. Harleen knew enough about psychology to manipulate her aunt into telling her what she knew about the letter, but she did not get into detail about what happened to her parents.  
But she knew enough now:  
Her mother was a witch.  
Her father was a wizard.  
And she... _she_ was a witch too.  
An if the answer she had send to the Deputy Headmistress McGonagall through the owl that had been waiting in their garden (An actual owl!) actually arrives at the school, then from the 1st of September on, she would start her education at Hogwarts, the school for Witchcraft and Wizardry.

So yes, Harleen Lilian Potters life plan had just changed.  
But she has always been rather good at adapting.


	2. Diagon Alley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this took long. Sorry!  
> I hope you enjoy this chapter, please let me know what you think!

### Diagon Alley

When Harleen woke up the morning After, she tried to proceed as normal. While her whole world had changed, some things were admittedly still the same – and one of those things was that she had to prepare breakfast. By the time the morning post came, everything was ready for the Dursleys.  
While she had not believed that an answer would actually come just the next day, Harleen was still disappointed when no letter addressed to her came.  
She had asked some questions that Aunt Petunia was not willing to answer (Where was she going to buy her school supplies? Are there any wizard librarys she could visit? After all she did not want to go into her new world without knowing about any of it.) but admittedly the Deputy Headmistress probably had better things to do than answer her letter first thing in the morning.

Slightly miffed, she dropped the one letter that came that day back onto the doormat. While it had looked nothing like the one she got, no heavy pergament, no wax seal, Harleen had still wanted to check the addressee. Maybe once they had realised she was living with non-magic people, they had altered their letters accordingly?  
But no, it was only another bill for Uncle Vernon.

“You are going to stay here for today.” Aunt Petunias voice surprised her. Her Aunt usually wasn't up before she left for the day. But with her face scrunched up unattractively she stood on the stairs, still in her dressing gown.  
“One of ..them came to get your mother all those years ago, and if they come for you as well, I will not be left alone with one of your people because you are once again off, doing god knows what. Now get out of my sight. And no word to Vernon or my Dudders!”  
With that, she turned on her heel and walked up the stairs again.  
Harleen scoffed.  
Great. Just what she needed – staying in her cupboard while her thoughts were running wild. But because she definitely did not want to encounter Uncle Vernon in the morning, she went back into her cupboard.

Folding her legs underneath her, she tried to get comfortable on her thin mattress. She really hoped that Aunt Petunia was right, that somebody was coming here, to explain everything to her in a more civilised way than her aunt had. The thought was quite ridiculous to be honest, a real witch or wizard (and wasn't that still a weird thought!) in Privet Drive. She tried not to think of Witches in stereotypical pointed hats, with warts, arriving on brooms, but the thought still made her muffle her snort in her pillow.

The spider web in one corner shook slightly as her heavy uncle made his way down the stairs. Harley shook some dust out of her hair that had fallen down, and tried to imagine a modern witch while her relatives started talking about the new Weatherman on TV.  
The thought that she is, or is going to be a witch came quite suddenly back with full force. The doubt still lay over her excitement like a grey veil, but the want for all of this to be real was to great not to think about it. She would have a new life. And her new life was hopefully going to be explained to her in great detail when someone of the school came.

One of _her_ people.  
That was quite a nice thought. 

While the Dursleys continued their breakfast in the kitchen, Harleens thoughts came back to her parents. She had never heard a single good word about them. Did Aunt Petunia despise them so much because they had magic?  
Did they die in a car accident even though they had magic?  
_How_ could they have died in a car accident even though they had _magic_?  
Absently, Harleen rubbed a hand across her forehead, where a scar was, shaped like a ragged lightning bolt, spreading across her forehead, some parts even reaching her right eyebrow. A scar, that, as she had been told her whole life, came from flying glass fragments caused by the car accident.  
Was that the truth?  
Was _anything_ the Dursleys ever told her true?

Suddenly angry with herself and with being so absolutely clueless in her current situation, Harleen nearly missed her uncle and cousin leaving, the front door loudly falling closed behind them. Free to get out of the cupboard again, even though it was probably against her aunts wishes, Hareleen went into the kitchen where her aunt was putting the dishes away.

“Tell me about my parents.” It wasn't a question, and in hindsight it might have been better not to anger her aunt more, but Hareleen needed to know.

Aunt Petunias back went rigid, before she turned around with a cold laugh.  
“No,” she said, “and now go back to your cupboard.”

“Why?” asked Harleen. “Nobody is around. Just tell me.”

“I said no,” her aunt turned away again, “I'm not going to waste my breath on my sister and your good-for-nothing father. Now leave!”

Harleen felt cold flames of fury licking their way up her spine.  
“You have given me nothing, nothing all those years and now you don't even want to tell me the truth about my parents after you told me nothing but lies about them?” she was nearly screming now, her unruly black hair falling into her face.  
With all than anger directed at her, Aunt Petunia seemed to loose her last bit of decorum.

“We didn't NEED to take you in! We did it out of the goodness of our hearts, and you have disrupted our normal household ever since! With your... your _freakishness_ and your _abnormalities_!” Aunt Petunia was heaving, the wet tea towel hanging from her shaking hand. “Your mother was the same, the same weird things happening to her and when that damned letter came, ooh how our parents were proud to have a witch in their family! Nobody could see her for what she really was, a FREAK! And now get. Out. Of. My. Sight!” she threw the towel at Harleen, and it was probably just because of her shaking hand that she missed.

Harleen was rooted to the spot. She wasn't even angry any more, she just felt ..empty.  
“Don't call me a freak.” she said, perfectly calm, and that seemed to spook her aunt even more.

But before either of them could say anything else, the doorbell rang.

“Go get it!” her aunt hissed at her, before she picked up the tea towel.

When Harleen opened the door, she was greeted with the rather stern face of an older women. She was wearing smart, if not a little outdated clothes, and had tied her greying hair back into a bun. She was looking down at Harleen over her glasses, her eyes widening a little when she looked into her eyes.

“You must be Harleen Potter.” she finally said a little softly, “you do have your mothers eyes... The green is rather distinctive.”

“Erm, yeah, thats me. And you are?” Harlen said, not really caring if she sounded a bit rude. She was still thinking about what Aunt Petunia had said.

“My name is Professor McGonagall. I am here to take you to get your school supplies for Hogwarts and answer all the questions you had voiced in your letter.”

Harleen nearly wanted to roll her eyes at her own stupidity. She had forgotten all about her letter during her ..talk with her aunt. How could she have forgotten? She was a witch!

“Of course! Please come in. And thank you so much for seeing me. There is still so much I don't know.” she added the last part a bit reluctantly. She didn't like not knowing.

Harleen lead the Professor into the -thankfully empty - kitchen. After making them a cup of tea, Harleen sat down opposite of her. The Professor got right to the point, which was very OK with her.

“Now it seemed from your letter that you had not previously known magic exists, is that right?” Harleen nodded, and Professor McGonagall suddenly changed a spoon into a rat. “Obviously, magic is very much real. Your parents both attended Hogwarts. It is the only wizarding school in all of England. You will learn everything you need to know – and more, if you want – in those halls. There are seven school years at Hogwarts, in your fifth year you will take the OWLs, the Ordinary Wizarding Levels, and in your last year you will finish with the NEWTs, the Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests. In how many subjects you pass those tests determines your future career in the Wizarding World. There are different subjects you can take in Hogwarts, but at the beginning you all start out with the same mandatory classes: Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, History of Magic, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Astronomy, and Herbology. You will take the Hogwarts Express on the first of September with all the other students from Kings Cross Station to get to Hogwarts.”

The Professor looked at her searchingly. “Everything clear so far?”  
Harleen was still staring at the rat, who now was happily munching at some pastries that were still on the table. This was the first honest to god magic she had ever witnessed. _Magic!_ So she could only nod, and Professor McGonagall changed the rat back into a spoon.

“Good. Now this,” at this point the Professor held up the thin wooden stick she had used to do magic, “this is a wand. It helps channel a wizards or witches magic and is therefore almost always used when somebody practices magic. There are certain powerful people who are able to perform magic without a wand, such as Headmaster Dumbledore, but you will always use your wand at Hogwarts. We will get your wand with all of your other school supplies in Diagon Alley in London. Diagon Alley is a magical street hidden in Muggle London – the Non-Magical part of London. It is rather exciting really – getting a wand is a big step in a young witches life.”

She gave another half-smile to Harleen, who was soaking up all the information she was presented with. 

“If you don't have any other questions right now, we should start our trip to London.”

Harleen hesitated. “Actually, I was wondering if you could tell me anything about my parents deaths,” she finally said. “Aunt Petunia didn't wanna talk about it.” Harleen added. Ha! That was a nice way of saying it.

“Ah yes.. I could imagine that it is quite the hurtful topic for your aunt.” said Professor McGonagall. Harleen nearly scoffed. Yeah, right. But she just smiled as awkwardly as she could, hoping it would prompt McGonagall into a longer answer.

The Professor sighed.  
“About ten years ago, there was still a Wizarding War going on. One powerful wizard had risen with his followers, a self-proclaimed Dark Lord. There were many people lost on both sides. Many went into hiding – and so did your parents. They had fought him many times before, so the Dark Lord went after them. On Halloween 1981, he found them, killing them both. And then he pointed his wand at you, Harleen. But you survived. No one has ever survived the Killing Curse before. The curse rebounded on He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and he vanished, thus ending the War.”

Harleen stared at her, uncomprehending, for a minute. McGonagall calmly looked back.

“I.. what?”

She sighed again, looking suddenly older than before.  
“Yes, you survived. Have you never wondered where that unique scar came from? It is not from a normal curse. Only Dark Magic leaves traces like that.” She looked at her for a moment, before adding in an almost relucant whisper: “You have been famous, since then. You and that scar of yours. Everybody celebrated the end of the war, and it was only thanks to you we got it.”

Harleen let the words sink through her mind, and felt almost hysterical. She had the weird urge to laugh – she had grown up thinking her parents were drunks and now suddenly they fought in a war that she – she! - stopped? With what exactly?  
“But I was only a baby. That does not make any sense. I didn't do anything!” Now she even sounded a little hysterical. _Great._

“Nobody knows exacly what happened. It is only known that he went after your family, and only you were left alive, with that scar.”  
Again, McGonagall nodded towards her forehead. Unconsciously, Harleen reached for her scar, before thinking better of it and returning her hand to her – now cold – cup of tea. Desperately trying to think of something else, she said: “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?”

“Ah yes. See, the war has been going on for quite some time, and people were afraid to say his name. It seemed to have lasted to this day.”

“But what is his name?”  
Professor McGonagall looked stricken for a moment, unsure, but Harleen had to know, so she said,  
“Don't you think I should know the name of the killer of my parents?”, and could see her giving in.

“His name was... Lord Voldemort.” The Professor said it confidently, but with a slightly shaking voice.

“ _Lord Voldemort?_ ” Really? That sounded ridiculous!  
“Surely that was not his real name?”

“It wasn't. He made that name for himself.” said the Professor, and then, without room for an argument, changed the topic. “We should be going by now, there is quite a lot to do in Diagon Alley. Do you have any more questions you want answered before we go?”

Harleen gave in – she knew when to drop a topic (Except maybe when cornering her aunt about her mother, but oh well..). But there was something else actually.  
“You said my scar is famous... does that mean people will recognise it?” she asked. Her hair was untameable, so she never tried to have bangs and her scar was quite noticeable.

The Professor looked at her for a moment, before nodding. “Yes, I believe a few people will recognise you.”

She frowned. She didn't need that at her first day going into her new world. Could she maybe cover it up? A hat would do maybe, but then again it was July, and it would be quite weird walking around with a hat in the rare English summer heat. But then she remembered – Aunt Petunia used Make-Up, surely it would help with her scar!

Looking up to Professor McGonagall, she quickly excused herself to the bathroom. She applied the Make-Up onto her forehead. It made her forehead look brighter than it was, since she and Petunia did not have the same skin colour at all, but if she smeared it on thin, it was just enough to blend her bright scar in with her skin. Now it was only noticeable if someone came really close, and she was not going to let that happen.

Coming back down the stairs, she met with an already waiting Professor McGonagall at the door. She looked at her foorhead slightly amused, but gave a approving nod.  
“Now, do you have everything that you need?”

“Well, I don't have any money, Professor.” Harleen said. She tried to stand tall without showing that she was embarrassed, and was relieved when McGonagall only nodded.

“Your parents left you all their money of course. You should be able to access your trust fund once we are at Gringotts, the magical Bank in Diagon Alley.” she said, looking down to Harleen over her glasses, before making her way towards the door.

“Lets get your school supplies.” she said kindly, holding the door open for Harleen.

And without looking back, Harleen walked out of the house, towards her new world.

 

She was walking with Professor McGonagall down Privet Drive when she remembered something.  
“You said something about my mothers eyes earlier. Did you now my mother?”

Professor McGonagall sighed. “I did. I teached both you mother and your father while they were at Hogwarts. Your father was quite the troublemaker in his early years.” At this point she looked sternly over to Harleen. “I do hope you do not follow in those footsteps, we have enough pranksters at Hogwarts as it is. But he was very smart. Both of your parents were. They had great friends and were admired among their peers. I am sure you will do them proud.”  
The Professor fixed her with a small smile. Even though she had asked, Harleen felt slightly uneasy. Smart and great friends? That was all she had to say about them? She knew it was better than anything her aunt had ever told her, but it still didn't seem ..enough.  
She didn't press it though. Professor McGonagall had only been their teacher, so she mustn't have known them very well.

They were rounding a corner, and now walking towards an empty alley. Before Harleen could ask how exactly they were going to go to London, the Professor explained.  
“We are going to use a magical method of transportation. It's called _Apparation_. It could probably be described as some form of teleportation.”  
They had reached the end of the alley, and McGonagall turned to her.  
“Hold my arm. It's not an enjoyable feeling, so be sure to hold on tight. I am going to transport us right inside the Leaky Cauldron, a pub that works as the entrance to Diagon Alley. Ready?”

Without really waiting for any verbal confirmation, the Professor turned. Harleen suddenly felt as if she was pressed into some sort of vacuum, there was just not enough air and it seemed like every bone was pressed as tightly into her core as possible and suddelny – it stopped. Harleen was heaving for air, while McGonagall waited patiently next to her. It was kind of embarrassing really – she really needed to learn how to hold herself together.

“Very good.” Professor McGonagall said when Harleen normalized her breathing again. “Most people actually throw up their first time.” She gave her half-smile to Harleen, who didn't really feel any better after hearing that, before turning to a stone wall next to her.

Harleen only now noticed their surroundings. They were in an walled courtyard, with only one doorway behind them, that – by the sound of it – led to the pub Professor McGonagall had mentioned and a trash can in the corner.  
The Professor pulled out her wand again, first pointing it at herself, and suddenly a robe seemed to fall out of nothing, resting on her shoulders and curling around her to her ankles, and then she tapped a brick stone (from the trash can, three up and two across, Harleen told herself to remember that), and the wall opened and unfolded itself to a street, filled with so much life and magic, Harleen could have never imagined it.

Professor McGonagall looked at her knowingly. “Welcome to Diagon Alley.”

It was incredible. They hadn't even set a foot into the alley and Harleen already felt overwhelmed. There was just so much to see! So many stores, so many people – wearing all kinds of clothing, from normal outfits – trousers and shirts, to robes and Harleen was slightly amused that some were even wearing pointy hats.  
It seemed like you could buy everything here – all items on her list and more. There was a bright white building at the end of the alley, and here and there some other alleys seemed to cross. Some buildings looked like they should collapse, intertwining and leaning over the streets in impossible angles, others seemed to be just made out of windows, the products displayed with flying signs and small, repeating fireworks.

It was – well, _magical_.

And while the letter and everything Professor McGonagall had said had cemented the idea that she was a witch, she only now seemed to realize it. Because this, this was her world. Her true world, the world where she belonged, the world where she came from.  
And she promised herself right there, standing on the entry to Diagon Alley, watching witches and wizards buzzing around doing their shopping, feeling completely at ease among the cauldrons and telescopes and self-cleaning dishes and books on vampires and everything else she couldn't see yet, she promised herself right there – she was going to do everything she could to make her stay at the Dursleys as short as possible. She did not want to go back. She is going to find a way, and she is going to stay in her world.

“Are you ready to go?” asked Professor McGonagall. “Our first stop is going to be Gringotts.”  
She pointed at the tall, white building at the end, and began leading Harleen through the alley. She tried to keep up with McGonagall while still looking around an trying to remember as many stores as possible. She wished she had a head like an owl, and could turn her head in every direction possible. There was just so much to see!  
There was an apothecary, a supply store for something called _'Quidditch'_ , stores for pergament and quills (which are apparently a thing), a bookstore, where Harleen couldn't wait to get into, stores for antiques and stores for shoes, stores where you could buy robes and stores where you could buy trunks and so so much more..

Shortly before they reached Gringotts, Harleen remembered another question.  
“So you could be a banker too in the wizarding world? What kind of jobs are there, besides being a teacher?” looking around Diagon Alley, she added “or store-owner?”

“While one can work for Gringotts, as a curse-breaker for example, most positions are actually held by goblins, since it's a goblin-owned bank.” explained Professor McGonagall.  
“Goblins are very intelligent creatures, and there have been many wars between goblins and wizards throughout history. They are not to be messed with, and it can be quite hard to store your gold here once you offended a goblin.”  
They climbed the steps leading up to the bank, and Harleen was relieved that she had asked, otherwise the small creature with intelligent eyes and sharp teeth that was guarding the door would have surprised her. She was grateful nothing showed on her face, and remembering the 'not to be messed with' part, she slightly nodded in – what she hoped – a respectful way.  
“As for jobs – well, there are many, like there are in the Muggle World. If you are really interested, I am sure we can find a book in 'Flourish & Blotts'.” continued the Professor.

The inside of the building also seemed to be made out of white stone, and down the left and right side, goblins sat at counters, either talking to customers or working on their own, and one goblin, Harleen noticed, seemed to be weighing diamonds.  
McGonagall led her to an empty teller. The goblin though was busy, and made them wait a few minutes before acknowledging their presence. Looking first at the Professor, then down at Harleen, he finally asked in a surprisingly high voice: “How can I help you?”

Before McGonagall could answer, Harleen decided to talk. It was her gold, after all, that they were here for.  
“Excuse me, my name is Harleen Potter, and I was told I have a trust fund here at Gringotts that I can access. Could you help me with that? I'd like to take some money out of it.” she tried to sound as polite and respectful as possible, but wasn't sure if she succeeded – nothing in the goblins face changed.  
“Well,” the goblin said, “does Miss Potter have her key?” He leaned down over the counter, his eyes now noticeably going to her forehead (Where she had tried to hide her scar. Damn it.)  
“She does.” it was Professor McGonagall answering for her, and the she pulled a little gold key out of her pocket.  
The goblin twisted his face in a way that could be described as thoughtful while looking at the key thoroughly, before he turned around and yelled something Harleen couldn't understand. It sounded very hard and harsh, and was probably the language of the goblins. She'd have to look that up.

Shortly after, another goblin appeard.  
“My name is Griphook. I am here to take you to your vault.”  
Harleen turned to Professor McGonagall. “Would you mind if I go along with him alone, Professor? This seems like something I have to do alone.” 

When the Professor reluctantly agreed, Harleen followed the goblin, Griphook, through a door at the end of the hall. Instead of being greeted with more white, it actually led into a cave of sorts. There were railway tracks on the floor with some carts on them, waiting for customers. 

As soon as Harleen and Griphook were seated, the cart took off – without any input by the goblin. It seemed to know its way around, as it turned left and right and right and left without needing to be steered. While it seemed dangerous at first, Harleen quite enjoyed the trip – this was how she always thought rollercoasters would be like. There were no belts of any kind, but she was sure that she wouldn't fall out – dying clients would be bad for buisness after all.

After a short while they arrived at their destination and the cart stopped quite suddenly. 

“Vault 687” announced Griphook.

He took the small gold key Professor McGonagall had given the goblins and opened the only door that was in this corridor. It opend with a slight creak, and through some dust clouds Harleen set eyes on her money for the first time. And how much it was! Unfortunately she had no idea what the gold, silver and bronze coins were, but the sheer amount overwhelmed her.

“I'm very sorry, but I don't know much about the Wizarding World, would you mind explaining the currency to me?”  
Griphook turned to look at her. While the goblins faces seemingly never showed much emotion, he looked quite ..displeased?  
“The golden ones are Galleons. Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine bronze Knuts to a Sickle. One Galleon is roughly 5 Pounds. There are 50184 Galleons and 13 Sickles and 21 Knuts in your Trust Vault, which would be approximately 250920 Pounds.”  
Harleen could only stare quite dumbfounded. Never in her live did she have so much money. How could she, when the Dursleys didn't even give her enough food or new clothes?

She tried to shake out of it and asked the first question that came to her mind.  
“Trust fund.. Does that mean there are different vaults in Gringotts?”  
The goblin smiled shark-like.  
“Of course there are. You yourself own 3 more vaults in Gringotts.. but you can't access them until you turned 17.”  
17? What was so special about turning 17? Was that when a witch fully reached maturity?  
“I would advise you to meet with Gringotts again, since you seem to be _..lacking.._ some knowledge.” Griphook continued. While Harleen usually took quite the offense when somebody told her she was lacking knowledge, she knew that Griphook was right – she knew nothing. And it was annoying.  
“If it would be alright with you then,” she said, “I would like to meet with you again. Is there any date that would suit you best?”  
The goblin raised his bushy eyebrows. “You can come in whenever you like, Miss Potter. Just state your business at the front desk.”

With those words Griphook turned back to the cart, while Harleen shoved as much gold as possible into a bag that she found next to the vaults entrance. She filled the bag with probably a thousand Galleons, but it neither got heavier nor bigger.

“Thank you very much Griphook.” said Harleen when they reached the entrance hall again, turning back to the small goblin. Thinking for a short moment, she decided to ask her question anyway – if he thought she was rude, maybe he would only think it was because of her being new to the wizarding world.  
“What is the respectful way to say goodbye to a goblin?”  
If possible, Griphook looked shocked for a moment.  
“May your gold ever flow and your enemies find their ends.”

Harleen nodded and gave Griphook a short nod.  
“May your gold ever flow and your enemies find their ends, Griphook”  
With a last shark-like smile, Griphook led her out into the hall again, where the Professor was still waiting.

“Did you get everything you need, Miss Potter?” asked Professor McGonagall.  
“Actually, I was wondering if I could change some Galleons to Pounds, Professor, but I forgot to ask Griphook.” it only occurred to her now that it might be good to have some Pounds handy, in case she got stranded in the non-magical world again.  
“Ah yes, on the counter over there,” said the Professor, leading Harleen to one next to the entrance doors. After she got quite a few Pounds for some of her Galleons, Harleen and Professor McGonagall went out into the blinding light of Diagon Alley again. 

“Now, I think it would be best if we started with a trunk. You can store everything you buy in it since it would be easier to carry around.” suggested the Professor, so they first went to Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment, where Harleen bought a medium sized trunk with 3 different compartments, one for clothes, one for books and another one for everything else.

After that they bought quills, ink and parchment in a shop where the shelves were overflowing with multicoloured ink and rolls upon rolls of parchment. Harleen nearly bought ink that changed colours, but Professor McGonagall told her that it wasn't allowed in Hogwarts on assignments, so she didn't.

Then they went to an Apothecary, were instead of medicine one could buy the weirdest ingredients for potions making. The man behind the counter offered her the set every first year got, but after finding a book called The First Steps to a Good Potion: Ingredients and Preperation by Arsenius Jigger – the same author her first year potions book was by – she decided to chose the ingredients after the instructions of the thin book, under the curious eye of the Professor.

“I can assure you that the potions set is more than satisfactory and will serve you well in your first year,” she said, “while Professor Snape – your Potions Professor – is very strict, he does accept the normal set.”

“Well, but I want – wait did you say Snape?” asked Harleen, “because there is a book by a Severus Snape in that corner!”  
“Yes, Severus Snape is the Potions Professor at Hogwarts,” said Professor McGonagall amused, “he is one of the youngest Potions Masters in the whole world if I remember correctly.”  
Harleen stared at the Professor unbelievingly. That sounded incredible! “And he teaches at a school?” Well, she certainly had to buy his book. After she collected all the necessary ingredients, she went back into the little corner where all the potions-related books where, and selected the one from Snape, along some other books that looked like they were for beginners.

As they walked out to Diagon Alley again, Harleen asked: “Who else teaches at Hogwarts? Do you have to have a Mastery to teach?”

“Well, since you don't know much about the Wizarding World I don't think the names of the Hogwarts Professors will say you anything. But most of our teachers are very well versed in their subjects. You don't need a Mastery to teach, usually someone who wants to teach spends one to two years as an assistant under a current Professor.” answered McGonagall.

Harleen thought it was curious that the Professor only thought most of their Professors were good teachers, but decided not to press it. She probably wouldn't get a good answer anyway. Instead she decided to ask about the Headmaster.

“Does Headmaster Dumbledore teach? He seemed to have quite a few titles according to the letter.”

“Ah yes,” smiled the Professor, “Professor Dumbledore is a very powerful wizard an thus holds a few positions in the Ministry of Magic. But no, he doesn't teach anymore. He used to be the Transfiguration Professor before he became Headmaster.”

Then what does he do the whole school year? And how does the ministry work? Can anyone powerful just get a position without any degrees? McGonagalls answer only raised more questions, but before she could ask any of them, they reached their next stop, Potage's Cauldron Shop.

Here she bought a pewter cauldron – even though she was very tempted to buy the golden one, and all the phials and scales she would need for her studies.  
After that they went into an odd shop, where it seemed you could buy everything, and bought a telescope, that she would need for her Astronomy lessons.

“Well,” said Professor McGonagall after they left the cramped junk shop, “the only thinsg left is your robes, your books and your wand. Where do you want to go first?”

“The wandshop, Professor.” said Harleen. “What exactly is a wand made of? Is it only wood?”

“A wand is usually made of wood and one core. The way wood and core come together define the way the wand works. The length is also important, though it doesn't say as much about the wizard – or witch – as the other two. The core is usually from a magical beast – dragon and phoenixes are very common.” answered the Professor, as they were entering Ollivanders – the only wandmaker in Diagon Alley.

As soon as the door closed behind them, all noise from the alley seemed to vanish. It was eerily silent in the shop – and very dusty. The shelves were full of long, thin boxes that probably contained wands. Before either of them could call out for the shopowner, he appeared next to them.

“Ah yes, very correct, Minerva McGonagall.” The man speaking – Mr Ollivander, presumably, was very ghost-like. Thin and white-haired, his clouded eyes stared at the Professor. “Nine and a half inches, fir with a dragon heartstring core, right? Stiff, and very well suited for Transfiguration.” He inclined his head to her, before his eyes found Harleen. 

“Aaaah,” he said again, “Harleen Potter. I knew I'd be seeing you soon. Your parents both bought their wands here – Ten and a quarter inches made of willow for your mother – very swishy, good for charms work.”  
He moved closer while he was talking, and Harleen did not really know what to make of him.  
“Your father preferred mahogany and eleven inches, pliable. But of course – I say your father preferred – it is the wand that chooses the wizard – or witch,” here he inclined his head to Harleen, now so close that their foreheads were nearly touching.  
“And this is where...” now he was raising one thin, pale finger to her forehead, where she had tried to cover up her scar. Harleen stepped back before his finger could touch her.  
“Ah yes,” he said again, also taking a step back.  
“I am very sorry to say that I also sold his wand. Very powerful... Yew, thirteen and a half inches... And in the wrong hands... Well, if I'd known what that wand – and that wizard – would do...” He shook his head.  
“But,” he clapped his hands, “lets see what wand will choose you, Miss Potter! Which is your wand arm?”  
“I am right handed..” said Harleen a bit uncertain. She was right handed – but then again she had learned to do most things with her left hand (including writing, because she had some teachers in school that wouldn't grade a test if it weren't written legibly) when Dudley broke her arm riding his first bike straight into her.  
“Well then, hold out your arm.” he said, and walked away. While Ollivander walked seemingliy aimless through the rows of shelves, the measuring tape did all of its work on its own. It measured the weirdest places: between her nostrils, the distance between her large toe and knee and between her wrists and chin. When it was done, the tape rolled itself up and landed on a desk and Mr. Ollivander appeared between two shelves.

“Now, as dear Minerva already explained to you, wands have magical cores. Here at Ollivanders we use unicorn hairs, tail phoenix feathers and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just like no two wizards are the same. You will never get as good results with anothers wand as with yours.” he explained, as he carried some boxes towards Harleen.

“Now try this one.” Ollivander said, while taking out one wand and giving it to her.  
The second she touched the wand, the lamp on his desk exploded. The next few tries weren't much better – to Harleen it seemed like her magic was quite destructive.  
After the eighth or ninth wand Ollivander seemed dellighted, while Harleen felt disappointed. What if her magic wasn't _...mighty_ enough to get a wand?

“Tricky customer, hm?” laughed Ollivander.  
“Well... I wonder... Maybe try this one.” he gave her another wand, this one made out of lighter wood.

The moment she touched the wand, Harleen knew this one was hers. If this isn't what it's supposed to feel like, then how? She felt like she could conquer the world, the warmth spreading from her fingers to her core made her feel invincible. It was like she could feel the magic that was running through her spreading out, touching the wand. Sparks flew out of it, and a warm glow illuminated the room.

Mr. Ollivander and Professor McGonagall clapped.  
“How wonderful!” said the wandmaker, “how wonderful... but how curious, how very _curious_.”

Curious? Harleen wondered what exactly could be so curious about her wand.  
“Excuse me... but what is curious?” she asked.

“You see, Miss Potter, I remember every wand I ever sold,” said Ollivander, “Your wand right here is holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple. The phoenix that gave the feather for your wand, however, gave one more. It just so happens that the other feather found her home in the wand that gave you this scar.” Ollivander once again pointed to her forehead.  
“Thirteen and a half inches, yew. A very powerful wand, just like yours, Miss Potter. I think we can expect great things from you. After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things too, terrible yes, but great..”  
At this point Professor McGonagall cleared her throat. “Thank you Mr Ollivander. I think Miss Potter would like to pay now.”

After Harleen gave Ollivander seven Galleons for her wand, Professor McGonagall and her were on the lively street again. 

“I think you only have the books and your robes left, Harleen. Where do you want to go next?” she Professor McGonagall.

Harleen wanted to get her books last because she was sure she'd spend hours in there, so they went to the robeshop next. Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions was a beautiful store, where robes in every colour and with every pattern imaginable were displayed on moving mannequins.

She was greeted the moment she stepped into the store and led to a stool, where she had to stand on for her fitting. Next to her was a girl her age, with blond her braided into two pigtails.

“Hi!” said the girl excited. “Are you Hogwarts too? It's so _exciting_ isn't it? I can't wait to go, I have been waiting my whole life since I knew that my Mom was magical! What about you?”

“Erm..” Harleen was slightly overwhelmed. She was pretty sure that this was the most a person her age has ever said to her in one go.  
Before she could say anything else, the girl continued, slightly slower.  
“Oh my God, I'm so sorry, I talk loads when I'm excited, and I didn't even introduce myself. I'm Hannah Abbott.”  
“Hi, my name is Harleen. And I didn't know about Hogwarts and magic until yesterday.” It sounded weird even to her own ears, but then again she never had much practice with kids her age.  
“Oh, are you Muggleborn? I'm a Halfblood, my Mum's a witch, but my Dad's a Muggle.” Hannah didn't seem any less excited, so maybe her answer was ok-ish.  
“No.” Harleen answered, “My parents were magical but died when I was a baby. I grew up with my relatives who have no magic.”  
“Oh. I'm so sorry.” said Hannah, looking a bit distraught, “would you like to know some books for people who grew up in the Muggle World? I know a few since I read them too a few years ago. Some are really good to get to know all things witchy!” she smiled encouragingly.  
“That would be nice, actually. The only thing left on my list is books. Maybe we could.. erm, go together?”  
Hannahs face lit up. “Yes! Yes that would be awesome! My Mum is over there, who did you come with?”

After Madam Malkins finished with both their robes and the rest of their uniform, both girls were on their way to Flourish and Blotts, the biggest bookstore in Diagon Alley. Mrs Abbott and Professor McGonagall were trailing behind them, while Hannah chattered without pause. 

“...my Mum was in Hufflepuff but I think I would also fit in Gryffindor! What about you? Where do you think you will be sorted? I mean of course no one can really know beforehand, but most children already have a favourite house. Do you think...”

It was rather nice really, Harleen thought, while listening to Hannah. She didn't need to say much, and got plenty of information about Hogwarts. Hannah didn't seem to mind that she wasn't as talkative.

A small bell chimed as their little group entered Flourish and Blotts,  
“Lets first get our required schoolbooks and than we can look for the other ones?” asked Harleen.  
“Good idea!” smiled Hannah, already walking into the right aisle.  
Getting their schoolbooks took no time at all, and shortly after Harleen was slightly overwhelmed with the sheer amount of books in the store. Where should she start? But Hannah was a great help and soon books started to pile up – books specifically for the entry into the Wizarding World, books about the Wizarding War (maybe she could find out more about that Voldemort guy), books about Wizard customs and traditions, a book about different professions in the magical world, a book called _Hogwarts, A History_ that Professor McGonagall recommended and, after she nearly forgot about it, a book on the language of the goblins, wich was apparently called Gobbledegook.

“It was really nice meeting you, Harleen!” they were standing in front of Flourish and Blotts now, Hannah with a smaller bag of books jammed under her arm.  
Harleen shook Hannahs other hand, “It really was. Thank you for all your help!”  
“Oh no problem!” Hannah smiled, “Maybe we see each other on the train in September?”  
“Yes see you then.” 

While following Professor McGonagall back to the Leaky Cauldron, Harleen realized that this was the longest time she ever spent talking with somebody her age – and maybe she wasn't hopeless in making friends. But then again, how did you know when you had a friend? Do you ..ask them?  
Harleen shook her head. She needed to get better at this socialising business, but nonetheless she was happy that she already knew somebody in her year.

After a not any more pleasant trip back to Surrey, and a short walk, the Professor said goodbye in front of the Dursleys house. 

“If you have any more questions, Miss Potter, you are very welcome to write me.” said the Professor, and with a last half-smile in her direction, she was gone.

Write her? How, without an owl?  
The Professor had asked her if she wanted to get a pet when they walked by a store with various animal noises coming out. Cats and toads and owls were allowed in Hogwarts – and owls used to carry letters – but Harleen knew that she had to go back to the Dursleys before school starts, no matter how unwelcome she would be. She thought about staying in a hostel in London, but she was only eleven (and looked even younger because she was so short) and nobody would let her in alone.

So back to the Dursleys it was.

Harleen sighed and turned to the house. The Dursleys have always prided themselves in how nomal the were, but now that Harleen knew what the magical chaos that was Diagon Alley looked like, the house just looked ..dull.

Dragging her trunk behind her, she was happy to see that Vernons car was nowhere to be seen, which meant there was probably still only Petunia home – who, when she entered the house, only gave her and her trunk a look of utter disgust, before disappearing into the living room.

After finally getting her trunk into her cupboard it was even more cramped then before. But it didn't really matter to Harleen – there was space to sit, there was a light, and she had her new books.

Time to get to know her world.


End file.
